To Doula or Not To Doula?

If you’re like most people, your first thought is probably: what is a doula?  A doula (pronounced doo-luh) is, in the most basic sense, a labor assistant (read more here).  I had never heard the term until a friend of mine used a doula nearly six years ago for her first labor and delivery.  I thought it a strange word at a time, and the concept itself seemed rather foreign as well.

When I was pregnant with Eli it didn’t occur to me to hire a doula.  A couple friends recommended it, but I figured, “well, my body is going to do this the way it’s going to do this, how would having someone I barely know there with me be of any help?”  Again, a naïve sentiment, but only in hindsight.  And only because my labor and delivery with Eli didn’t go well.  Had it gone well I probably wouldn’t have considered the idea this time around, either.

But here we are.

Initially I had an interest in hiring a doula because I knew I was going to be delivering at a hospital that is: 1) not very labor friendly in general, and 2) was not going to be supportive in the least of my attempt at having a VBAC.  I felt like having a doula on my side, helping to coach me along, would help to offset some of the anxiety I was feeling about my less-than-ideal birth location.

Why didn’t I just switch care providers/hospitals?  Long story short my husband, son and I had temporarily re-located to Michigan for seven months as my husband had work there.  I knew we’d be returning late in my pregnancy (34 weeks) and I love my OB in L.A., who had said from the get-go he would be supportive of my VBAC attempt.

Well, we’d barely been back in L.A. two weeks when our well-laid plans began to crumble.  My OB started telling me that I couldn’t say VBAC at the hospital and that we were at least going to have to schedule my c-section to make it look like we were “playing by the rules” (the hospital, for reasons I do not understand, had deemed me a mandatory repeat c-section). 

Then the avalanche of negative feedback kicked in.  How reviled is this hospital?  The first doula we interviewed refuses to attend births there because they are so labor unfriendly, but was willing to make an exception as a favor to a good friend of mine.  Then, three days later, at my first chiropractic appointment here in L.A., the chiropractor asked me why I decided to deliver at that hospital. 

“I really like my OB, and it’s where our insurance covers us,” was my reply.

“Well, your insurance also covers you delivering at X, Y, and Z hospitals,” he responded.  “How badly do you want a VBAC?”

I didn’t have to think long.  “Very badly.”

“I hate to tell you this, but you’re at the worst hospital in L.A. for what you’re trying to do.”

I couldn’t ignore the growing pit of anxiety in my stomach.  It felt so late in the game to make a switch this major.

Two days later I switched OBs and hospitals.  The following day I learned that my original OB threw out his hip and was going to require surgery and would be out for 6-8 weeks, minimum.  In other words, I would have had to switch OBs anyways.

The decision felt right.

The hospital I am now delivering at has midwives on staff 24-hours a day.  I decided this would suffice as support, that I would simply call a midwife in if I was struggling, or if this baby happened to be asynclitic as well. 

The reassurance that the hospital was now behind my decision to attempt a VBAC meant my anxiety levels came down, a lot.

I decided I didn’t need a doula anymore.

Well, for about a week.  Then I began to realize that while yes, my anxiety levels had dropped and I felt better about the environment I would be delivering in, I still was having some serious self-doubt about my ability to deliver this baby without medication (not an absolute requirement, but strongly recommended when attempting a VBAC). 

I wanted someone there with me that had been through this before, that could suggest techniques, reassure me in my moments of waning confidence, and generally offer guidance.

Doulas are a varied bunch.  There is a wide range of experience.  Some doulas specialize in massage or hypnobirthing or acupressure or… 

After speaking with a couple doulas, I found one close to my age, Gracie Davis.  She isn’t the most experienced doula I spoke with, but she had a c-section with her first and a VBAC with her second.  She immediately understood where my self-doubts were coming from, and having someone that “got it” suddenly became the most crucial form of “experience” in my book.  Her demeanor is so calming.  She has already worked hard to familiarize herself with my previous birth experience, my concerns, and my hopes for this upcoming birth.  We’ve talked about how she’ll communicate with me, what she’ll suggest, and how she should interpret my responses to her. 

I never imagined I would “need” so much extra assistance to get through this process.  Sometimes I feel like I should be able to buck up and just do the damn thing.  But knowing that had I been better educated AND had a doula last time that my labor and delivery experience may have gone differently … well, I want to know I did everything this time around, for the baby and for myself.

Giving Pregnancy Weight the Middle Finger

I have to say that this second pregnancy has been much less kind on my body. 

There are many, many more stretch marks this go-round, mainly on my bursting belly. 

My ass?  It’s always been big.  But now?  There should be moons orbiting it.

I have pork chop arms.  NO!

Again, for the second time, I am at the point in my pregnancy where most of my maternity clothes DO NOT FIT.  This is insulting at the highest level.

And yet, my general attitude is “oh well.”

It feels good not to care about my appearance right now. 

Let me re-phrase that:  It feels good that my appearance right now is not sending me down a deep, dark hole of self-pity. 

I am grateful for the lessons I learned the first time around, as I watched in horror at my quickly morphing body, doing things I never thought possible.  Then I had Eli and wondered if things would ever get back to “normal.” 

Well, they very nearly did.  I was on the road to getting my body back.  I know it can be done. 

So this time around I have found that I am much more forgiving of the process, because really, there’s nothing I can do about it anyways.  This is how my body makes babies.  I gain a lot of weight, everywhere, things stretch and expand to unthinkable proportions, and at some point, soon, there will be a baby as a result of all this shifting and inflating.

It will take awhile, but eventually I’ll come up for air and then it will be back on the road to getting my body back, again. 

I find it amusing what I can overlook the second time around.  This pregnancy I throw on whatever clothes will keep me cool and comfortable and don’t give a shit about whether I even “match.”  Will people give me looks?  Who cares?

Trust me, it’s no joy to look at myself in the mirror without clothes.  I still cringe, still rush for cover in my PJ’s or whatever semi-clean attire I can manage during the day (having a toddler also contributes to my “I don’t have time to worry about my appearance” attitude).  But I also know my body isn’t going to look like this forever.

This is one instance where the previous pregnancy experience has been a blessing.  So, in the spirit of the Cee Lo Green song that keeps getting stuck in my head: F*ck you, pregnancy weight.  You’re there now, but you won’t be for long.

Hello, Fear and Anxiety

There are a lot of topics I’ve been thinking about lately, wanting to write about.  But when I sit down and try to compose my thoughts, they come out incomplete, disorganized, at times incoherent.

Sure, I had the flu, am still getting over this damn flu (I’ve never had a cough quite like this…), and am now 36 ½ weeks pregnant, which let’s be honest, disqualifies me from putting together a coherent thought, let alone several strung together.

This was frustrating me, greatly, until I realized the underlying issue: What I am really thinking about, almost constantly these days, is my upcoming labor and delivery.  I hate to admit that I am more nervous this go-round. 

Here I thought that after having my first child I would feel like a “pro” of sorts when it came time for the show, but instead, in my wavering confidence over “should I or should I not attempt a VBAC?” and “What if I end up having another emergency c-section?” or “What if there are complications?”  or… I find myself steeped in uncertainty. 

I want my baby girl here, in my arms, without going through the unknown adventure that lies ahead.  It’s hard to believe now, but before I had Eli I was all confidence about the process, looked forward to it, even.  Sure, I was nervous, didn’t know how gracefully I would/would not handle pain, didn’t know what exactly to expect.  But I never doubted that things wouldn’t go smoothly, that I wouldn’t be able to birth my son naturally.  My pregnancy had been uneventful, save for the typical ailments, and so there was no reason in my mind that things would change once we got in the delivery room.

Naïve?  Yes.  But looking back I long to be that person again, so sure about the process, so certain that my body would do what I wanted it to.  I have no true reason to think that things won’t go well this time.  Again, my pregnancy has been uneventful, complication free.  My heartburn/indigestion is starting to drive me bonkers, the sleepless nights are chipping away at me, but I know these things are temporary and so they are (mostly) easily dismissed.

I have been seeing a chiropractor in the hopes of keeping this baby in a good position, and so far all is well.  Nothing indicates a problem at this point.

And yet…

There is a part of me that can’t let go of the first experience, that is petrified that things will take a wrong turn somewhere and that I will end up in the operating room, again.  That I won’t get to see my baby being born, won’t get to hold her, see her for several hours after her birth.  These are the thoughts that eat at me the most.

The fear is irrational, but isn’t being pregnant a sure and sometimes constant path to irrationality? 

Then there’s the thought of leaving Eli while I am at the hospital.  The truth is, I have not been separated from him for more than five hours, ever.  It’s not my preference that this has been the case, it’s just the way it’s worked given our distance from family and my determination to breastfeed the first year.  So my anxiety not only involves giving birth, it also includes being apart from my firstborn for an extended time.

I am quite sure that in a few weeks I will look back on this time and think to myself, “Well, that was a waste of time and energy, letting yourself get worked up over nothing.”  But in the moment I cannot help it.  I sit here and watch baby girl drag her foot along my increasingly scary-looking stomach (holy stretch marks, veins, and bruised looking belly button this time around, yikes).  I make pacts with her:  “Be nice to Mom, okay?  Let’s just get through this together,” or, “Please don’t get stuck in there.  I promise you’ll like it out here.  Really.” 

I wonder if she senses my anxiety.  Unlike Eli, who was quite mellow even in the womb, she is active and I often feel like she is trying to beat her way out of my stomach already.

We are on the cusp of our next chapter together.  Part of me can’t believe this pregnancy is nearly over.  It has passed so quickly I often feel as though I haven’t slowed down enough to marvel at the process.  Then my brain takes over and wishes her here, now, so I can sit assured, knowing all will be okay. 

I’ve realized that the impending labor and delivery process probably never gets any easier, no matter how many children you’ve had, or how well the process has gone previously. 

I just get disappointed when I let my previous experience cloud my confidence, rattle my nerves.  I know my body is capable of doing this the way it is meant to, and I hope to report very soon that we have welcomed our newest addition: a healthy baby girl.

Sick day...

Dear readers,
Please excuse the delay, but I must take a sick day.  I have been down with the flu for the past week, and at nine months pregnant, this illness is taking its sweet time leaving my body. 

Please join me next Monday for a new post.  Wishing you and yours a wonderful week AND good health.

Best,
Milk Machine Mom

Annoyingly True

Before having a child I often heard these types of comments tossed about:

“You’ve never known unconditional love until you have a child.”

“Once you have kids, time will fly by faster than you could ever imagine.”

“Holding your child in your arms is like no other experience in the world.”

“You’ll never see a news story again concerning a child without crying.”

“Every milestone your child reaches will feel worthy of multiple phone calls, e-mails, and photos.”

“You will think your child is the most amazing person in the world (or a plural version of that sentiment).”

The annoying thing is that all these comments are true, and then some. 

When Eli was born, in a way I cannot fully describe, I felt my world expand and shrink at the same time.  Suddenly, so many previously “important” things, people, events, to-dos, etc., seemed trivial, at best.  What had I done with my time before him?  Suddenly, it felt as though I had been caring about so many things that truly were not important.  So in that sense my world shrunk.  I stopped paying attention, sometimes too much, to what was happening in the world around me.  I lived and breathed my child.  And I loved it.

It was in this way that my world expanded.  Eli opened a floodgate of love from my heart.  I know, I know, it’s Valentine’s Day today and that just sounds cheesy as hell.  But I won’t apologize for it.  I’ve never loved anyone as purely and simply as I love Eli.  It was and sometimes still is frightening to me, the fierceness with which I love this little guy.  By opening myself up this way, I’ve learned to appreciate the love I feel for other people, too, and the relationships that have true significance to me.   

It’s unsettling sometimes, how differently you look at life once you have a child.  It’s a new lens through which to view the world, and you realize very quickly how your habits and attitudes will color the outlook your child will have towards the world, too. 

What made me think about all this?  Eli started walking last week.  Just typing that sentence makes me shake my head in wonder.  Where does time go?  Here’s a snippet from my journal entry that day…

*  *  *  *  *

2.10.11

Today was a momentous day.  Eli has been taking a few steps here and there the last week or two.  At most I had seen him take three steps in a row.  Well, today I come out of the bedroom to check on him and watched him walk ½ way across the living room.  Less than an hour later he walked from one side of the room to the other, at first in forward steps, then he got shaky and proceeded with some sideways steps.

It’s hard to describe how it felt to watch him do this.  I didn’t expect it to be such an overwhelming moment.  Mostly, I felt joy.  The determination and subsequent pride on his face made me so happy.  I was also very excited to see him reach this milestone.  He’s been close to it for what has felt to be a very long time, so I knew the time was near.  There was also awe mixed in there.  The fact that he grows and changes so quickly, has turned into less and less of a baby with each passing day, well, it’s an amazing transformation to witness.  Although, it does bring sadness, too.  Independence is a necessary step as we grow up, but to see him take steps away reminds me to hug and squeeze him every chance I get now, before he’s running away for good.

As someone who is just about 33 weeks pregnant, it also brings some relief.  This kid is heavy and I am struggling to carry him around.  Despite the opinion that, “you don’t want him to walk for as long as possible, because then it’s all over,” well, I cannot subscribe to that philosophy.  As soon as Eli became mobile and could open and get into cupboards, the trash, and anything else he knows he’s not supposed to have, that’s when I considered things to be “all over.”  Sure, he may be harder to catch now, and I suspect we are going to be moving back into the land of nasty spills for awhile (and it felt so good to get away from that for a bit), but I would still rather have him getting from Point A to Point B on his own.

*  *  *  *  *

And so it goes.  Now I find myself spewing out annoying comments and observations about what life is like with a child (yes, I am truly sorry if I annoy you).  I always thought I could relate to the sentiments expressed by others prior to having my own children, and in a way I could, but nothing could have prepared me for the whirlwind of emotions and experiences that comes with raising a child, or how it would affect me to the core.

And now, whenever I hear someone else making a declaration of sorts about how children change your life, I smile a little smile and nod my head in agreement.

Sharing is Starting to Suck: Or, How Quickly We Forget

Well, okay, fair enough to say that not much time elapsed between one pregnancy and the next.  Eli was eight months old when I became pregnant again. 

So I hadn’t truly forgotten all the ailments and frustrations of pregnancy (although those memories did recede quickly).  And now, here we are again.

I have to say, for the most part I love being pregnant.  It’s an amazing process and I am no less in awe the second time around.  To grow another person inside your body in 40-ish weeks?  How can you not sit and stare at your belly in wonder?  There is so much happening every second of every day…

Sure, the beginning of this pregnancy was rough.  I had morning sickness almost immediately and it lasted nearly 3x longer than with Eli.  But then I coasted into the second trimester, my favorite stretch of pregnancy.  One day you wake up and, voila!  You simply feel better, almost like yourself.  There is energy, again, and you do not feel nauseated at the sight/smell/thought of certain foods.  It’s a grand time. 

Your belly is starting to poke out and maybe, just maybe, people are starting to think you are pregnant and not developing some kind of beer gut.  This is what being pregnant is all about. 

It goes on like this for some time.  You coast along, looking “cute” (or as cute as you can manage) in your maternity clothes, you feel the baby kick for the first time, you start to contemplate names, you daydream about how wonderful it is going to be to meet this mysterious little person hanging out in your belly.

And then, somewhere just inside the third trimester, it all goes downhill.

Suddenly, food is the enemy, again.  Except this time it doesn’t make you nauseous, it insists on burning your belly and results in acid reflux. 

You wanted to sleep?  Well, between the acid racing up your throat, your stiff hips and lower back, the Charlie horses that send you bolting upright out of sleep, the many trips to the bathroom each night to pee, the sudden onset of carpal tunnel, and your babe’s new boxing skills, you are managing an hour stretch at a time, maybe two if you’re lucky.  You wake up each day looking a little worse for wear.

And if that wasn’t enough, now that you’re tired and saddled with all-day long indigestion, good luck trying to tie your own shoes, bend over without grunting, or breathing without sounding like Darth Vader.  You’ve officially become a spectacle.

Then there’s the little guy living outside your body to contend with each day. 

Most of the time I can get through the day reasonably well.  Eli is getting heavy, and on his “fussy” days likes me to hold him and walk him around.  That is getting difficult.

So, at 31 ½ weeks pregnant, I set my sights on that 36-week mark and say, “Anytime after that, little one.  Come on down.” 

Eli was born just shy of 38 ½ weeks.  I hope like no other that this babe is on a similar schedule. 

I know all the ailments, minor inconveniences, and extreme exhaustion will end.  Of course, the exhaustion will extend beyond the pregnancy, but I welcome those first few months, where at least I can enjoy her outside my body and be exhausted.  Somehow, that is more manageable than her keeping me up all night when I can’t even hold her, yet.

After she’s born, probably not too long after she’s born, there will come a time when I will miss being pregnant.  I was astonished at how quickly after having Eli that I missed it.  “What am I, crazy?” I thought.  Here I was, acid reflux-free, able to eat anything I wanted, able to sleep (when babe would allow) without stiffness and pain, and I wanted to go back and do it all again?  Surely there was/is something wrong with me.

Right now it’s tough to fathom that I will miss all this again.

There comes a point, say like now, when I get tired of sharing my body.  I’m not even sure “sharing” is an appropriate term.  It’s nicer than saying she has completely taken over and invaded my body and I have no control over anything (which is the truth).  But I like to think of it as a sharing relationship.  However, I am tired of sharing and have started to long for my body back, so I can eat, sleep, exercise, bend over, and breathe without having someone make so many indirect objections to everything I do.  

All that said, I cannot wait to finish “cooking” this kid and to meet the little face that is waiting ever so patiently to join us on the outside.  It won’t be long now… and then, before you know it, I will forget all my complaints and look back at my pregnancy with nothing but fondness.  Sometimes, forgetting is a good thing.

A (Frog) Pot to Piss On

I didn’t anticipate potty training being such a hot-button topic.  But here we are.

I’ve always known from the get-go that I would want to potty train our kids early.  For reasons I couldn’t always articulate it simply made sense.  Why wait?  Why buy diapers for years (and then Pull-Ups, etc.)?  Why not train them before it turns into such a battle?

Of course, like so many other aspects of parenting, it comes down to what is going to work best for each individual family.  There are a lot of factors to consider, least of which is the fact that it IS a huge time commitment, and a long, long process.  I can see why so many people would choose to put it off.  Why not, right?

When I mentioned to a couple people that we were going to start training Eli soon, I was met with surprised looks, and comments to match.  Nothing negative, per say, more of an astonishment that I would start so early.

I, along with my brothers, were close to being fully potty trained when we were one.  That’s right, one.  At first I thought maybe this was one of those moments where parents look back and exaggerate the facts, perhaps the memories have gotten foggy and they just round to a convenient number.  But no, we were in fact potty trained then, and this was not considered unusual at the time, though the shift had begun, the groundwork had been laid for the current trend of delaying training.

I felt conflicted about the responses I was getting.  Should we wait?  Were we pushing Eli too soon?  There has been a lot going on in our lives lately, a lot of transition, and maybe this wasn’t the best time to establish a routine with him.

Looking for further opinions on the matter I went online (babycenter.com, where I belong to Eli’s “birth month” club, a group where parents of babies born in October 2009 can discuss what is currently going on with their child with parents of other similarly-aged children).

I saw a post that declared another parent had started potty training.  Hopeful, I clicked on it.  The parent voiced some of the same concerns I had and was looking for guidance.  Someone posted a book that had been helpful to their family:  Diaper-Free Before 3, by Jill M. Lekovic, M.D.  The poster noted it wasn’t necessarily the best how-to book (and it’s not) but that it talked about how our culture has gotten to its current stance on potty training, and why for many reasons it’s more healthy, effective, and realistic to start early. 

I was immediately intrigued and decided to read the book. 

I won’t bore you with details, though I will say if you are considering potty training early it’s an excellent resource on the history and recent changes in the attitude on potty training.  Much of the current shift is due in large part to Dr. Brazleton, and his “child readiness approach.”  You can Google his name for more info or check out this quick snippet here.

I was pleased that the book served to confirm my instincts about why I wanted to start now. 

A friend of mine gave us a potty a few months back and it’s been sitting in our bathroom ever since.  Eli was and is, of course, fascinated by it.  I always explain to him it’s his potty, and show him the sign for potty.  Occasionally, I would sit him on it fully clothed, just to get him used to it.  We’ve since moved to a smaller frog potty, which he loves (the other one was too big for him … his feet didn’t even reach the floor, and yes, this is important).

There have been other signs he’s ready:  He hates getting his diaper changed (especially #2’s), always kicking and struggling.  He’s at an age where he tries to mimic everything we do.  Finally, he has, um, rather predictable signals when he’s about to do a #2.  As my MIL pointed out, “If you know he’s going to do it, that’s the perfect time to try sitting him on the pot.”  I agreed. 

So one day I decided, “Screw it.  Let’s just start this.  It feels like the right time.”

Eli is not quite fifteen months old, and we’ve been actively training him for two weeks now.  I decided that since I’m due with our second child in less than three months, now would be the best time in the foreseeable future to spend time with him, unrushed, as he gets acclimated to this change.

How’s he doing?  It feels strange to report my child’s bathroom habits (although it’s a constant topic of discussion in our household), but I will say I couldn’t be more proud of him.  We barely ever change a #2 diaper, unless we’re out and about, and in the last couple of days he’s even started to do the sign for potty on his own, letting me know he has to go (with only one false alarm thus far). 

I’m not going to lie: I never thought he would catch on this quickly.  Not to say we don’t have a long ways to go.  We do.  But the progress he’s made in two weeks, from being fussy and momentarily upset each time we set him down, to now, giving us the sign that he needs to go?  I’m amazed.

All this being said, I’m sure others may think me critical of their decision to delay training.  Not at all.  While I do think there are some health benefits to completing training earlier, not to mention the potential for fewer hurdles, it’s like anything else: We do what works.